


Pursuit

by HermitLibrary_Archivist



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Blake introspection, Gen, Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-05-26
Updated: 2008-05-26
Packaged: 2018-04-21 03:15:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4812878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HermitLibrary_Archivist/pseuds/HermitLibrary_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>by Tom Beck</p><p>Blake's attack on a Federation base has unforeseen consequences.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pursuit

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Judith and Aralias, the archivists: This story was originally archived at [Hermit.org Blake's 7 Library](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Hermit_Library), which was closed due to maintenance costs and lack of time. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2015. We posted announcements about the move and emailed authors as we imported, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Hermit.org Blake's 7 Library collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hermitlibrary/profile). 
> 
> This work has been backdated to 26th of May 2008, which is the last date the Hermit.org archive was updated, not the date this fic was written. In some cases, fics can be dated more precisely by searching for the zine they were originally published in on [Fanlore](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Main_Page).
> 
> **Original Author's Notes:**
> 
> Previously published in 'Magnificent Seven 8'. 
> 
> Originally also archived at Hammer to Fall.

It isn't _always_ quietest just before the storm. At least it wasn't that morning on Sparloc, a planet in the sixth sector whose only claim to fame was the enormous Federation military base on its main continent.

Base Commander Descol was preparing his forces for the annual wargames, which meant that all was in chaos, even more so than usual. Ships were landing and taking off constantly, taxiways were jammed with ships going to and from hangars, support and service vehicles were in continuous motion, troops were on the march in all directions, and the comlines were in permanent use. Without a priority, there was no way of calling into or out of the base. Thousands of dependents had no idea where their soldier and spacer relatives were or what they were doing.

Such chaos is inevitable at such times. Completely unavoidable. Descol accepted it as the price of his wargames. It simply made things a little more difficult.

It also made the base a sitting target when _Liberator_ attacked.

#

"Information," Zen announced. "Liberator has just entered the Sparloc system."

That got everyone's attention on the flight deck. Especially Blake's. "Increase speed to Standard by ten," he said.

Jenna interrupted him. "We can't attack at that speed," she pointed out. "We'll have to slow down before we begin our run."

"I know that," said Blake. "But this will get us to Sparloc faster, make it harder for them to detect us." He grinned almost wolfishly. "Which is just what we want." He turned. "Zen, put the battle computers on line and prepare to execute the attack program."

"Confirmed."

Blake looked at Avon, who was nursemaiding Orac. "Any change in their readiness status?"

The computer tech consulted a screenread. "No, none at all. They are just starting extensive maneuvers, a military exercise involving the entire force. Their annual summer wargames, according to Orac. Judging by their tactical traffic, the whole base is in disarray at the moment. We are going to catch them completely unawares." He chuckled a little.

"It's a good thing Orac cracked that Federation tactical code," said Vila. "He's actually turning out to be quite useful! I'd hate to have a go at them if we didn't know what they were doing."

That brought a smile to Blake's face. "If we didn't know what they were doing, we'd never risk an attack on such a large base." He went over to the weapons station where Gan was standing. The neutron blasters were cleared, and a number of plasma bolts were ready to be launched. Everything was set.

Hands on hips, he faced his crew. "Right, then. You all know what to do. As soon as the attack starts, Cally, contact your rebel friends on Argyros, tell them they can begin their uprising, that there won't be any Federation reinforcements from this base. Vila and Gan, keep track of the damage we cause down there. If we don't have to make a second attack run, I'll only be too happy. Jenna, get ready to take us out of here as soon as we've leveled the whole complex. Avon, keep monitoring their traffic. We don't want to be surprised by any unexpected resistance or pursuit ships."

"And what will you be doing while we're all busy obeying your orders, Blake?" Avon asked. "Or will you just sit back and watch us do your work for you?"

Blake replied sharply, " _I_ will be figuring out what to do if anything unforeseen occurs. Now get ready. Zen, how soon?"

The ship's voice was as impassive as always. "At present speed, attack will commence in two point two three five minutes. All targets are acquired and weapons systems are locked on. Speed will decrease to Standard by six just prior to start of attack."

Jenna spoke. "Estimate the amount of damage we'll do the first time through, Zen."

"That is not possible," replied the ship. "Conditions on the planet's surface are constantly changing."

"Then I'd better lay in a course for a second attack run, just in case," Jenna said. Zen would control the ship into and through the attack, but to handle anything unexpected would require an experienced pilot at the helm.

Blake nodded at her suggestion. It was good to have a capable person like Jenna with him; not only competent, but completely dedicated to his cause. She would work that much harder for him, because she believed in him and his mission.

As Liberator approached the planet, silence reigned on her flight deck. Gan was standing by to put on the force wall if needed. Cally was in contact with the Argyrian freedom fighters, whose rebellion the attack had been devised to support. Avon was receiving constant updates from the planet through Orac. "No change," he reported. "They have no idea we're coming."

"Good," said the rebel leader. "Let's hit them hard." His face was grimacing in concentration on his self-appointed task of destruction.

Vila noticed. "Blake don't you think it's unfair, striking them like this out of the blue? I mean, there's a lot of civilians around that base."

His remonstrance was barely noticed. Avon looked disgusted. Blake didn't even face him. "Fair? This is war, Vila. The Federation started it, we didn't." He thought for a second. "Zen, I want maximum dispersion of plasma bolts. Blanket them from one end to the other. Concentrate the neutron blasters on their landing fields, launch areas, and hangars. We'll cripple their ability to counterattack."

"Confirmed."

Seconds passed. Liberator swooped toward the planet Sparloc faster than any defense system could keep up with. Time seemed frozen.

Then, everything happened at once.

"Entering primary attack zone," Zen stated. "Attack commencing." Sounds of energy discharges were heard. Cally's voice came through in the background giving the go-ahead to her Argyrian friends. Orac was issuing a stream of incomprehensible military babble. Blake chewed on a fingernail, rapt in concentration. Only a few seconds latter, it was over.

"Attack run completed," said Zen. Moving away from planet Sparloc at Standard by eight."

"Damage assessment!" shouted Blake.

Gan and Vila hastily scanned screens. Both spoke at once. "We hit their main command center," said Vila.

"Got their two largest landing fields," Gan reported.

"Do we need to go _back_?" Blake asked impatiently. "Avon, what do you have?"

Avon was listening to Orac and reading a screen display.

"Difficult to tell just yet, Blake," he said. "We've certainly raised all kinds of major hell down there, though," he grinned. "I'm just not sure how much."

"But did we do _enough_ damage?" Blake nearly shouted.

Avon checked additional readouts. "The communications center is completely out, they've had to switch to an emergency mobile station. That probably means major disruption in their chain of command."

"Let's see. We've knocked out their damage control and engineering facilities."

Vila grinned. "Well, they won't be putting this base back into service for a long time!" Gan clapped his hands together. On the silent flight deck, it sounded like a thunderclap.

Cally spoke up. "The rebellion on Argyros will be starting very soon. Clissor and his people thank you, Blake. They are very grateful for your offer of aid."

"And of course," said Avon, "their gratitude is worth any risk to us and the _Liberator_."

Nevertheless, he continued to monitor Sparloc's military communication channels. "They report hundreds of ships burning on the ground. It's created a firestorm, too hot for firefighting units to approach. It may burn for hours."

Blake smiled. "Good, good. Anything else?"

Avon looked sharply at him. "Isn't that enough? It's little more than a minute since we hit them. Even Orac can't correlate all the information that quickly."

"We have to _know_ ," said Blake through his teeth.

Jenna was quietly changing course. "Blake, we don't have time to wait and we can't just assume we got everything there. I'm taking us back for another go." Blake nodded. "Avon, what targets should Zen aim for on this pass?" she asked.

He thought for a moment. "To disrupt them totally, keep them from restoring order, concentrate on the perimeter of the complex. Prevent any help from arriving from outside the base."

"Confirmed," Zen boomed.

The second attack went as quickly and smoothly as the first. Within seconds, _Liberator_ was streaking away from Sparloc.

Blake exhaled hugely. "Well done, everyone. That'll certainly shake the Federation's hold on this sector. Cally, keep in touch with Argyros, let me know how it's going there. Vila and Gan, stay on top of the situation. Inform me if there's any pursuit. We may not have gotten all of their ships. Avon, keep reading their traffic. I'm curious just how much damage we actually did." He turned to Jenna. "Good work, Jenna, taking us back. A real thorough strike. Good piloting." She beamed at the unexpected praise. Avon scowled.

At times like this, Blake felt a strange sense of unity with his ship and crew. All bent to their tasks, all working toward the same end. Why couldn't it always be like this? Even Avon was forged to his will. That was almost as gratifying as the successful attack.

He shook his head, dispersed the reverie. Too much to do. Blake joined Avon at his station next to Orac. Despite the attack, Sparloc Space Control was still on the air, issuing floods of orders, reports, calls for help, and a great deal of noise. Avon was too intent on following it all to snipe at Blake. There was a lot to listen to. Even Avon was impressed at the extent of the wreckage they'd left behind. He summed it up for the rest.

"At least fifty major buildings completely or almost completely destroyed, including the records storage center, most of the barracks, the armories, space defense headquarters, and planetary weather control. For what it's worth, we hit the brig. A lot of prisoners set free, presumably grateful to Blake for liberating them." He grinned. Blake looked at him with exasperation. Avon continued, "We gutted all their hangars. The runways are extensively pitted and scored. Many are blocked by wrecked ships. Three of the four landing fields are ruined. Most major highways on and around the base have been demolished. At least four hundred ships were destroyed or damaged. And, since they have no repair facilities left, they will stay damaged. All in all, Blake, I must say that as a terrorist, you're a damned good one."

Blake grimaced at that one. He stared at Avon as if to say "thanks a lot." He sighed. He felt very proud of his work today and he wasn't going to let Avon ruin it for him.

Cally had a thoughtful look on her face. "What is the death total?" she asked.

Avon consulted a readout. "Pretty high, from what I can tell. Several thousand troops and officers have been killed or injured. Since we also took out the base hospital, a lot of the injured will probably die as well. Casualties are especially heavy among civilians, though. Our second attack destroyed the residential areas surrounding the base, where the dependents live. Lived. There's a report that a number of women and children were killed."

Blake shook his head. Vila was staring at him. "It doesn't matter," Blake said.

Jenna moved toward Blake, put her hand on his shoulder. "It couldn't be helped," she said. "The Federation didn't have to house civilians so close to the base. Besides, it was Avon's idea to hit the perimeter."

"Generous with blame, aren't you, Jenna?" asked Avon acidly.

"And my decision to go for a second attack," she continued. "Besides, we've helped save how many lives in the future?" she argued. "Lives on Argyros, lives this base won't take later."

Blake shook his head. "No, Jenna, this isn't your or Avon's responsibility, it's mine. I could have stopped our second attack or had Zen hit a different target. But we needed to take this base out. Both for Argyros and for ourselves. That's a lot of ships and Federation troopers we won't have to face later.

"Not all Federation troopers down there," said Vila. "A lot of innocent civilians."

"Why so squeamish, Vila?" asked Avon with a smirk. "You knew our attack plan before we went in."

"Besides," said Cally, "they're not all innocent. They know what the Federation does and they still support it. We have no choice but to attack such people."

"Do we?" asked Avon. "There was nothing pressing us to come to Sparloc, Cally's freedom-fighting friends to the contrary. Only Blake's undying cause. Whatever the cost, to us or to others."

"Now who's squeamish, Avon?" retorted Vila. "I just don't like the idea of us becoming terrorists, that's all. There's enough we can do to hurt the Federation without killing the citizens we're supposed to be trying to free. Isn't that right, Blake?"

"Yes," he replied. "I never intended any civilian deaths. That's the Federation's specialty."

Avon stood over him. "Then you shouldn't have ordered this attack at all. You knew there would be casualties. You just hoped you wouldn't have to face them. Odd that you should be such a coward."

Blake sprang up at the computer tech. Cally and Gan swiftly intervened, struggling to separate the two. "Stop it!" Cally exclaimed. "Avon, having a conscience is not cowardice. Sometimes war makes one commit horrible crimes. _Liberator_ has been very cautious in all its attacks so far. That doesn't excuse killing noncombatants, but sometimes one has to."

An uneasy silence ensued. Blake and Avon stared at each other. Then, Blake stalked away, off the flight deck. Avon stared after him, still gripping the shoulder Blake had almost mauled. He turned to Orac. "I had better see if anyone is chasing us," he said, his voice a little subdued.

#

"I told you, Base Commander Descol is dead!" shrilled the voice. "Who am _I_? Chettick, Subcommander, Quartermaster Corps... I head--headed--the Medical Records Center, sir.... No, I don't know where the deputy commander is. I don't know where anybody is. We've been attacked, sir! Destroyed! Yes, I know you're the Sector Commander. I don't care if you're the Supreme Commander, I still can't manufacture information. Why didn't Taliant Control warn us of this?.... You didn't know? Well, how should I know who hit us, then? It happened so quickly. We had no warning at all! Probably an entire flotilla, from the amount of damage they did.... No, there's almost nothing left. Took out the whole base they did. Wait, I'm getting a report."

The scene was a Mobile Communication Track Vehicle. It was about the only thing on the base that wasn't burning, or smoking, or in ruins. Outside the noise was incredible, the churning chaos and carnage overwhelming. Inside it wasn't much better. Officers, petty officers, and enlistees, of all ranks and branches, were crammed in trying desperately to make sense of the situation.

Chettick turned to face a new arrival carrying a portable computer. After reading the screen, he reported back to the Sector Commander on Taliant. "Yes sir, Pursuit Three is intact. They were off planet doing torpedo drills when all this happened.... Yes sir, they already have their orders. Already underway, in fact, sir. Only eight ships, though, sir, and three of them are trainers, useless in a fight.... They were overdue for refit and reinforcement, sir, scheduled for two weeks from today.... We were backed up in the shops, sir.... Most of those ships were destroyed, the first place hit was the repair center.... Well, of course, sir, but that wasn't my department.... I don't know why we didn't have more ships in space when they hit us, _I'm_ not in Tactical. I told you, I'm in Quartermaster!.... sorry sir.... Subcommander Sloman, sir. Don't know him myself.... Wait a second, let me call up his record.... Ah...welI, he's young, sir. Graduated the Academy five years ago.... Yes sir, that's very fast to make subcommander. Several medals and commendations. Took over Pursuit Three just last year. Never been in combat with it though,sir.... _Yes_ sir.... Yes, I'll keep you informed, sir. Chettick out."

He rolled his eyes. Turned to face the others in the cramped vehicle. "Well, I'm in temporary tactical command until we can locate and dig out some senior brass. If there's any left. Get me a permanent line to Pursuit Three. Keep a plot of Sloman's movements. Even if he can't catch the intruders, maybe we can figure out where they went."

But where the hell did they come from, he wondered, before turning back to his impossible task.

#

The quiet after the storm. Two storms. Blake was sulking in his cabin, Avon on the flight deck. Cally was happily listening to reports from Argyros, where the small planetary garrison had been overwhelmed by the rebels, emboldened by the destruction of the force on Sparloc, whose star system bordered theirs. The sector fleet was too far away to intervene. Taliant wasn't even close to either Sparloc or to Argyros. That's why the destruction of Sparloc Base was such a victory over the Federation in this sector. A victory for Blake.

Jenna was doing some manual flying to ward off boredom and also to be in position in case of an emergency. Gan and Vila were supposed to be watching out for pursuit, but neither was really doing it with any diligence. Both figured that Avon and especially Orac could cope with any sudden Federation attention.

 _Liberator_ flew on for almost an hour. She was well out of the Sparloc system now, headed toward sparsely settled Federation space, still in Sector Six but partially uncharted. A good place to hide before heading back for more action in the heart of the Federation. Blake and Jenna had planned it; they'd worked it this way several times already: Shoot and scoot, lie low, and then come back for more. Blake had some ideas involving the Terra Nostra and Space City that he wanted to try out next.

Just then, Zen spoke up. "Information. Unidentified space vessels at extreme range. They are following our course at approximately Standard by eight."

Avon consulted a screen. "They could be Federation pursuit ships. We might not have destroyed them all. Get Blake up here, Jenna. Zen, what's the maximum speed we can manage now?"

"The attack drained one energy bank. Any speed greater than Standard by six will not allow _Liberator_ to recharge."

Blake was back with them. "How many ships are there, Zen? And how far away?"

"At least seven--no, eight. Distance, two hundred thousand spacials and closing."

"Two hundred thousand!" Jenna exclaimed. "How did they get so close?"

"Because someone was sleeping," Avon said, glaring at Vila.

"That's enough," Blake snapped. "At this rate, they'll catch up with us soon. Let's find a place to lose them. Zen, what's up ahead?"

"Approaching the Rona Star System," said the ship. "Three planets. The third planet, Terona, is a gas giant. The second, Derona, is barely habitable. It has two moons."

Blake nodded. "Okay, we'll try to outrun them. Let's get ready to fight, though. Zen, put the battle computers on line and raise the force wall. Gan, take the weapons station. Cally, help him. Avon, try to find out who they are and where they came from."

"Plasma bolt is launched and running," Zen announced calmly.

Waiting for a plasma bolt is sort of like running a red light. You think you can make it, but you're never sure. Liberator shook under its force, but the shields held.

"Fire the neutron blasters," Blake ordered. Pencil-thin beams of energy lanced out from Liberator, striking unerringly on the Federation ships. Avon quickly totted up the damage.

"Hits on all eight ships. Two of them destroyed. Extensive damage on the others. They are still closing on us. We have also sustained some damage. Now what, Blake?" Avon asked sardonically.

"All right, Avon. We've been pursued before. We'll increase speed briefly, then brake, turn and fire. Standard by ten, Jenna. I know we can't sustain it, but just for a few seconds. Zen, when we brake, I want widest possible dispersal on the plasma bolts. Random firing of the neutron blasters. Keep them from hitting back. One salvo, then we turn and run, fastest possible speed."

"Confirmed," Zen replied.

"You're starting to sound like an old spacedog, Blake," said Jenna with an amused and admiring smile.

"You sure you were never in the Space Service?" asked Vila.

"I've watched a lot of war movies," Blake grinned. "Get ready, Jenna. Standard by ten!"

Again, it was all over in seconds. _Liberator_ leaped forward, putting distance between herself and her pursuers. Then, suddenly, she was almost dead in space, turning to attack her foe. A mighty hailstorm of radiation burst from her weapons banks and engulfed the enemy ships.

"Damage report!" shouted Blake.

"Two more pursuit ships destroyed," Gan announced. "Hits on all the others."

"Get us out of here, Jenna," Blake ordered. He turned to Avon. "Well, that ought to discourage them. Half the squadron destroyed. They'll probably turn back now, return to Sparloc. We'll orbit the second planet, rest for a while, and--"

He was interrupted by a plasma bolt shaking the ship. "Where the hell did that come from?" he demanded.

"They're still after us," reported Cally. "Four ships traveling at Standard by eight, distance fifty thousand spacials and closing rapidly."

Plasma bolts detonated against the ship with sickening regularity. "Whoever they are, they certainly know how to shoot straight," said Vila.

"I'm sure their commander will appreciate your admiration, Vila," said Blake. "You can send him a fan letter. If we ever get out of this." He shook his head, trying to think. "We've got to shake them. Jenna, head for that gas giant. We'll use its gravity to swing us around quickly and then go right for them. Liberator should be able to outshoot them. They won't be expecting a frontal assault."

"Right, Blake," Jenna said calmly. She began the difficult maneuver. Liberator's speed increased audibly.

Blake turned back to Avon. "Try to find out who they are. Eight ships isn't a lot for a pursuit squadron attached to a major base." He stared at the screen.

Seen from a distance, a space battle would be extremely boring. The ships fight at tremendous distances, so they would appear as tiny dots against a speckled black backdrop. Energy weapon blasts don't look like much in reality (as opposed to the sharp bright flashes of vidform entertainments). And, of course, there's no sound. In a word, boring. From a distance.

On ship involved in a space battle, it's a different matter. Liberator swung around Terona, her speed increasing. So did her crew's nervousness. They all knew that Blake was taking a major gamble, staking everything on a very risky tactic. They also knew that they had few alternatives.

The tension affected everyone. Vila was biting his nails. Gan and Cally monitored the ship's condition. Even Avon was too intent on his task to snipe at Blake.

The speed passed Standard by eleven. Jenna was finding it hard to control the giant ship. "Zen," she called, struggling with the bucking helm harness. "How long before we break orbit?"

"And can the ship stand it till we do?" Avon asked softly.

"Two point one six minutes," replied the ship.

"Battle computers on line!" Blake ordered. "Vila, Gan, be ready to fire the moment you spot those ships. Stand by with the force wall, Cally."

The time passed quickly. As the ship approached breakout point, her speed rose to Standard by fourteen. In her damaged condition, she couldn't take it. Jenna's forehead was gleaming with perspiration. She looked exhausted. She couldn't take it much longer, either.

"Breaking free from Terona orbit," announced Zen. "Speed decreasing to Standard by ten. Pursuit ships are in front of us, heading away from us. Distance seventy thousand spacials and closing fast."

"I see them!" shouted Vila. "We've got 'em from the rear! Firing the neutron blasters!" His fingers danced over the weapons control buttons.

"Plasma bolts launched and running," said Gan.

The Federation ships in the viewscreen loomed larger and larger as Liberator continued to close them. Seconds before overtaking the pursuit squadron, violently bright lights flashed on the screen.

"We got them!" Vila cried. "Great shooting, eh?" No one replied, they were too intent on the viewscreen. It showed nothing.

"Are they all destroyed?" asked Blake.

"No," said Jenna. "They're just not on-screen anymore. We were going so fast, we passed right through."

Avon checked some readouts. "Sorry to disappoint you, Vila, you only got one of them," he said.

"Only one?" Vila asked with a pout. "My aim was better than that!"

"Perhaps," Avon replied. "But our velocity made this an unstable platform to fire from. You're lucky you got even one."

Blake frowned. "That means there's still three ships left. Well, they'll probably break off now and head back. Silly to risk further destruction. They can't catch us now."

"I don't know, Blake," said Cally. "They do not appear to be breaking off. My scanner shows them beginning to gain on us."

"Gaining on us?" asked Blake. "They shouldn't even be chasing us in the shape they're in. Jenna, increase our speed. Lose them."

"That high-speed run didn't do us any good," said Jenna. "The best we can do now is Standard by four. Any faster and we'll shake apart."

"Plasma bolt launched and running," said Zen.

"Force wall on!" Blake ordered. The ship rocked from the blast. "This is insane. Who are they? Avon, can't you unscramble their signals?"

"I'm trying, Blake, but they're using a different code. Orac is working on it. Knowing who they are won't help us defeat them, though."

"No," Blake agreed, "but it might let us know how much they're willing to risk to try and get us." Another plasma bolt rocked the ship. "Vila," Blake said sharply, "you might try shooting back at them, you know."

The thief jumped as if electrocuted. "Right, Blake," he said. "Firing the neutron blasters." Seconds passed as he fired again and again.

"A hit," Gan reported. "Scratch another pursuit ship!" he called out as an explosion flared across the viewscreen.

"Six ships destroyed," Blake mused. "Now they have to break off."

"Would you care to tell that to their commander?" asked Avon. "They're still gaining on us."

In quick succession, two more plasma bolts struck the ship.

"Our shields may not last much longer," Avon pointed out. "I suggest we run like hell."

"I don't understand," Blake fretted. "We've blasted six of their ships into rubble. Why are they still following? They can't outgun us. Any sensible Federation commander would save his squadron.... What was that you said, Avon? Run like hell? Where to? And how? We can't even manage Standard by four."

"Blake, Orac has just decoded the signals to the command ship," said Avon. "That is Pursuit Squadron Three. The commander is someone named Sloman. He is receiving orders from the Sector capital on Taliant. Apparently his superiors also think he should abandon pursuit and save himself. They've given him a direct order to return, but he is refusing.... Wait a second.... He has just broken off communication with Taliant.... He sounded implacable. Sector Command is frantically trying to raise him. Apparently his are the only ships on Sparloc we didn't destroy. Sector Command would rather not leave Sparloc completely undefended."

Blake stared at Avon. "A direct order to abandon and return and he switched off? He won't hold that command much longer."

Another plasma bolt rocked Liberator.

"Information," Zen stated. "Shields five and six are down. One, two and four are at minimum. Damage to the rest of the ship is considerable. Recommend a period of inactivity to allow repairs to proceed."

Two more plasma bolts landed. Liberator shuddered. Blake slipped. Only Avon's quick action in grabbing him saved him from hitting the floor.

"A rest period is now imperative," Zen said. "Damage will soon be irreparable."

"What was that about their not being able to outgun us, Blake?" said Avon. "They're certainly trying very hard."

"We just destroyed their sixth ship," Blake responded. "At this rate, they won't have anything left soon."

"Neither will we." Another plasma bolt hit.

Jenna and Cally joined them. "Blake," said Jenna, "if we head for Derona, we may just lose them between the planet and its moons."

"It's worth a try," Cally added. "We can't stay out in open space. That just gives them a free shot at us."

Blake nodded. "Do it."

With Jenna at the controls, Liberator approached Derona, an ugly greyish-white ball. Within minutes, an orbit had been taken up. There was no sign of pursuit ships.

"I think that's done it," Blake said. "Zen, any sign of them?"

"No," said the ship. "They may be on the far side of the second moon. Repairs are proceeding. Estimate that Liberator will need seventy-two hours to complete repairs and to recharge all energy banks."

"Orac," Blake asked, "are you picking up anything?"

"Routine intership transmissions," replied the supercomputer. "The two intact pursuit vessels are searching for us. They are both badly damaged, but are operational. They are still receiving orders to return to Sparloc, which Squadron Commander Sloman refuses to acknowledge."

Blake was bothered. "He's acting like he's on a suicide mission. Kill and be killed. Odd for a Federation officer. Even the most fanatic aren't usually that dedicated."

"Blake, I don't know for sure, but he sounded almost... well, almost personal," Avon said.

"It's as if he wants to get us, regardless of the cost. I can't make out why."

"Well, let's hope we don't have to find out," Blake said, chuckling a little.

Repairs were underway. Jenna and Blake were monitoring the orbit. Vila was assisting Avon. Cally and Gan were resting. There was still no sign of Pursuit Three.

"Maybe they did return to Sparloc," said Jenna.

"No, Sloman sounded too determined," Avon responded.

"Maybe they blew up. We hit them pretty hard," Blake offered.

"Orac would have detected something. No, they're out there. I don't like being hidden. They can't see us, but we can't see them. We should have finished them off."

"You may get a chance," Vila cried. "Look at the screen!" Suddenly the ship rocked and plunged.

"We've been hit!" Jenna yelled. "The orbit's decaying!" She struggled frantically with the controls, which bucked and squirmed in her hands like a living thing.

"Zen, where the hell did they come from?" Avon demanded. He had raised the force wall and was activating the neutron blasters.

"Analysis is that they came around the moon on a very tight orbital path. The gravitational pull may have damaged them."

"More than we already have, you mean," Blake muttered. "Jenna, are we stable again?"

"Just barely, Blake," the pilot said. "They're still on our tail, though." The screen lit up brightly.

"Not any more!" Vila said happily. "Looks like that's it for Pursuit Three!" There was nothing on the screen but space debris and the remnants of the explosions.

Plus many tiny flickering lights.

"Both ships were destroyed, but they launched some life capsules first," Avon reported.

"A few are drifting into space, but most are in planetary approach mode. They're putting out a general distress call. Orac, broadcast a jamming signal. We don't want any Federation rescue vessels surprising us before we can finish our repairs."

"Very well," replied the peevish supercomputer. "I cannot maintain the jamming for seventy-two hours, though. I suggest you stop the life capsules from broadcasting their distress signals."

"That means going down there," said Blake. "All right. Cally and Gan, get kitted up. The rest of you, give all priority to vital repairs on the ship. Nothing fancy, just get us ready to run. We'll be back as soon as we can." He followed Cally and Gan off the flight deck.

Avon watched his retreating back. "Don't hurry back on my account," he muttered.

#

"Barely habitable," Zen had said about Derona. Within seconds of teleporting, Blake understood what the computer meant. Derona was bleak and mean. It looked gray from orbit; it looked even grayer from the surface. Rocks and scrabble and no vegetation within sight. No wonder the Federation had never bothered settling it. You couldn't even use it as a prison planet--you'd never get guards to stay here!

They had come down on top of a hill overlooking a broad, ugly valley. They could see for miles. A low cover of putty-colored clouds imparted a dull, sad dimness to the chilly atmosphere. Blake looked around. Cally was already burying a cache of extra teleport bracelets in case any of them should lose one. Gan had contacted the ship; his lack of imagination meant the awful planet hadn't arrested his thoughts as it had Blake's.

He shook his head, cleared his thoughts. "All right," he said. "Don't waste any time. Find them and... stop them. Remember, they're trained Federation troopers. Killers. Don't take any chances. We'll meet back here in four hours. If you're not back, Zen will scan this area every hour after that. We're limiting the use of teleport to save power. So there will only be one pickup every hour. We're not sticking around seventy-two hours, though. Zen is to do the minimum amount of repairs that will let us go somewhere else to finish. As soon as that's done, the ship is leaving, with or without any of us, after four hours." Gan and Cally nodded, then headed off in separate directions, each guided by Orac.

There was a beacon a few hundred feet to the south. Blake headed there unsteadily. He felt tired. They should have had a chance to rest after the attack, savor it, recover. Instead, here they were, thrown from that frightening pursuit into a seek-and-destroy mission on a truly horrible planet. Blake didn't like killing with his bare hands unless he knew his victim, had a personal dislike. Or in self-defense, of course. At least when you blew up a ship from a distance of a thousand spacials, you didn't have to see your victims.

Fruitless thought, he chided himself. Part of being a rebel was accepting the dirty parts of the job. Part of being an adult was doing what you had to when you had to, regardless of what you really thought of it. Nevertheless, the cheery glow of that morning's successful attack was gone, irretrievably.

The wind was rising. lt was very cold on that barren steppe. Blake shuddered, as much from loneliness as from the wind. He might have been the only living thing on the entire planet for all that he could see any other sign of life. Cally and Gan had completely vanished from sight.

Blake pushed on. It was taking him a long time to traverse a few hundred feet, he thought. A very difficult, broken, awful few hundred feet. Derona must be seismically very active, his engineer's mind reflected. A lot of earthquakes, volcanoes. He started up a small rise. If Orac was right, the beacon he was tracing should be just on the other side.

He reached the top, panting from exertion. Orac's directional signal was very strong. He looked around--there! Blake sprinted toward a ravine. A cracked-open escape shell lay sprawled on the bank. With gun drawn, Blake approached cautiously. He peered into the shell, then relaxed. It was occupied by a corpse, a badly burned one. Probably ejected just as his ship exploded, killed instantly. The beacon was broadcasting automatically. Blake stood back, aimed, and fired. The shell erupted with a satisfying roar. One down.

In the aftermath, Blake was drained. His heart was pounding and he was drenched with sweat. Gods, I'm jumpy, he though. And this was an easy one! Get a hold of yourself. He took a few deep breaths. "All right, Orac, where to next?" he asked.

"There is another beacon signalling from a point approximately two kilometers further along in the same direction you have been traveling," replied the supercomputer. "It is a very strong signal. It may be coming from the command escape unit. Proceed until further notice."

Two kilometers, Blake thought. On this kind of terrain, that would take an hour or longer to cross! He thought of teleporting, but decided against it. Too big a drain on _Liberator's_ power. With a grimace, Blake trudged on, further and further away from the pickup point.

Suddenly, his bracelet beeped. "Blake here," he responded.

"Cally. I've dealt with two capsules, Gan with four. That's all that Orac can find. The others probably malfunctioned. We're heading back to the ship. Are you all right?"

"Yes, I'm fine, Cally. I've found one and destroyed it, and there's another one a couple of kilometers north of there. Should be back soon. See you back on board. Blake out."

Hiking songs were far from uppermost in Blake's mind during the march. He was trying to make maximum speed, but the ground was so fractured that he kept wearing himself out and having to rest. He had to climb a high tor of shredded rock and slipped twice, cutting himself badly. A river of frigid water was too deep to be forded, too wide to be jumped. He had to swim across; on the far side, the wind cut through his wet clothes like a laser lance.

Blake stopped at the edge of a bluff, scanning the plain in front of him. "What now, Orac?" he demanded. "I don't see a bloody thing anywhere."

"The capsule is still broadcasting, Blake, on a command channel. If it is Subcommander Sloman, I suggest you capture him. Interrogating a Federation officer would provide much intelligence on their weapons and tactics."

Despite his misery, Blake almost laughed at Orac's effrontery. Here he was on a hellish planet, cold, wet, and exhausted, about to face an enemy, and Orac was telling him to bring it back alive! "Orac, just tell me where he is. I'll deal with him any way I can."

There was a brief silence. Blake thought Orac might be a little miffed. "Very well. The signal is coming from about two hundred meters further north of you."

Blake looked in that direction. Nothing. The capsule was the same gray color as the landscape, though, he remembered. Have to get closer. He took a step forward, and suddenly was in space. The edge of the plateau had given way and he was tumbling amidst a great flurry of dirt, dust, and rock. He hit solid earth with a terrible thump and lay there stunned, gasping for breath and inhaling the ground.

Several minutes passed. Blake sobbed from pain. He was covered by layers of dirt and rock. Finally, he raised himself to all fours, painfully. He shook himself like a dog, shedding mounds of Derona. He rolled over onto his back and stretched his limbs, checking for injuries. Nothing broken, he decided. Barely. He had bruises where he'd never before thought he had anything to bruise. There were cuts and abrasions, too. The skin on his thighs had practically rubbed off.

With a groan, Blake stood up. Tried to stand up. Mostly, he hunched over, working out kinks in his back. He rubbed his body, making sure he was all right. All in one piece, he decided. With a sigh of relief, he felt his gun, drew it and leveled it in front of him. Thank the gods he still had it. The gun seemed okay, although his vision was blurry; he had to squint to see anything at all.

He tried to call the ship, get last instructions from Orac. No answer. "Vila!" he called. Nothing. "Jenna! _Avon_!" No answer. His bracelet must have been damaged. Nothing for it now but to get this over with quickly and head back for the rendezvous point.

All right, he thought, let's get on with it. Limping, grunting in pain from a sore left side, Blake pounded the hard surface of the planet towards the escape shell. He could see it now, a few hundred feet in front of him, cracked open, scarred almost black from the heat of re-entry. Where was Sloman?

There was no sign of any occupant. Blake leveled his gun, peered ahead, trying to shake the fog his head was still in. The shell was at the bottom of a sort of dip, a depression in the ground. Around it were low bunkers, mounds of earth and rock. Blake approached cautiously. If Sloman was around and had heard him coming, he might be waiting behind one of those hummocks.

The ground exploded at Blake's feet. He was thrown backwards by the blast. Sloman was there, all right! He scrambled away, searching for any cover at all. He threw himself down a slight incline, hoping he was shielded from wherever Sloman was firing from. He covered his head.

A few seconds later, he peeped cautiously over the edge of the incline. Nothing. Blake decided to sidle around to his left, try to circle Sloman's position, come at him from behind. He hoped he could do so silently.

There was no clear path. Whatever forces had littered the planet with rocks and debris had worked overtime in this area. Blake stumbled over boulders, struggled up hills and across ravines, and once took a headlong fall into a pit filled with rocks and shards of the mountain. His left leg was lamed and he felt he must have broken a rib in his left side, he was finding it so hard to breathe.

As he began to crawl up a steep slope lined with pebbles, he thought he heard a scraping sound from above. He froze and looked upward. There, twenty feet above, stood a tall man in a black Federation uniform. He was very hard to see against the dingy sky. Blake's eyes stung from the wind, which was whipping dust around in swirls.

He drew his gun and fired. The man fell, though not before firing his own blaster weapon at Blake. The blast missed, though Blake could feel the singeing heat rush past him. He struggled up the hill, hoping to find at the top that he'd killed the man or at least incapacitated him. The sharp rocks cut his hands cruelly.

Blake slowed down as he neared the summit, dropping to all fours and crawling up the last few feet slowly, trying to make as little noise as possible. He peered over the crest and saw--nothing! No sign of his prey anywhere. He shook his head, startled and bewildered. He got clumsily to his feet, wiped his hands on his trousers, and looked around.

What he saw was what looked like a gravel clump at least fifty feet high. Scraps and orts of rock strewn in a haphazard cone-shaped pile with a flattish top, canting at a slight angle away from him and downward. Perhaps, he thought, Sloman is just below the opposite edge. He approached it cautiously, gun drawn and pointing in front of him. As he neared the edge, he once again dropped and inched toward it on his belly. He tossed a handful of pebbles over it. No response. He stuck his hand forward slightly. Nothing.

Blake stood up and leaned over the edge. No sign of Sloman. Below him he could see the hummocks of earth that Sloman had hidden behind to shoot at him. Further along the broken ground was the still smoldering wreck of Sloman's escape shell. Blake aimed and fired. The craft exploded.

He turned. Now to find Sloman and deal with him. He traced the edge of the summit, stopping every now and then to scan a cliffside for his target. Wherever he stopped and looked, he saw nothing but more rocks. Blake began to wonder if perhaps Sloman had run away. But he would have seen the Fed fleeing across the terrain if that had happened.

Blake made a half-circle, returned to where he had crested the hill. There he stood and shook his head, frustrated and puzzled. Sloman wasn't here and he couldn't have gotten away. He raised his wrist to call the ship, then suddenly remembered that his bracelet had been damaged and didn't work. His hands dropped to his sides and he stood for many seconds, lost, in pain, alone.

All around him for miles he could see nothing but scarred and sullen land, brooding and miserable. The cloud cover was lower than before, the dim light was failing further, and the wind swirled and howled. Blake shivered. Where had Sloman gone?

He continued along the rim of the hill, sometimes slipping in the loose gravel, once almost splitting himself in two, one leg sliding down the hill, the other bent double beneath him. He slid to his back, stretched his sore legs out in front of him, rolled over onto his stomach, and raised himself to all fours. He crawled away from the crumbling cliffside and squatted, trying to regain his composure. This was getting him nowhere. Sloman had to be around, and he was wasting time.

Blake headed for the crest, cautiously. He took a tentative step over the edge. His foot disappeared in an explosion. He fell backwards, striking his head hard on a large rock, and slid down the hall on his back, bruising himself badly. Halfway down, he tumbled over forward and somersaulted several times the rest of the way. At the bottom, he hit hard, losing his breath and bashing his already sore left side. He lay there, completely stunned.

A crunching sound neared him, but he couldn't tell from what direction. Blake tried to roll away from it, but succeeded only in hurting himself some more. Gasping to fill his aching lungs, he tried to sit upright but failed. And then the dim light grew even darker around him. He looked up and opened his eyes. Looming over him was a tall dark figure.

"Sloman?" he grated through broken teeth.

"That's right," said the Federation officer in a strange accent that Blake couldn't identify. "You must be Blake." It came out sounding like 'Blike.' "I recognize you from the news-zaps." His voice sounded harsh and cold. There was a vicious ring to it, plus something else, something much worse.

"Where--where were you? I searched everywhere on top of the hill," Blake wheezed. He knew he was in trouble and was trying to buy himself time to recover a little. Why didn't Sloman just kill him?

The man laughed. "I got survival training, you know. The Federation don't just kick us out to face crimos like you. They teach us how to act on a S&D mission. Heard you climbin' up the hill, I did, so I sloped myself down to the bottom, circled around the other way, and shot you as soon as you leaned over the top. Like shootin' on a target range, it was. You ain't so tough without your fancy _Liberator,_ are you, Blake? Now get ready to die." He pointed his blaster at the supine rebel.

Desperately, Blake reached around behind him, his hands grasping for anything. He felt a large rock. He picked it up and hurled it at Sloman as hard as he could. He didn't put much force on it in his weakened state, but enough to smash it off Sloman's chest and drive the Fed back a little, spoiling his aim. Blake kicked up at him with his legs and Sloman went over backwards.

Blake heard him coughing and gasping. He managed to pull himself to his feet and stood up, woozily. Sloman was holding his groin, obviously, by sheer chance, Blake had kicked him in his most vulnerable spot. He shuffled toward the fallen man and aimed to kick him again. Sloman grabbed him and pulled him down. Scrabbling in the dirt and rocks, pummeling each other ineffectually, they rolled over and over again. The rocks cut cruelly into Blake's flesh. His ribs stabbed him in sharp agony each time he landed on his left side.

They came to a stop with Sloman straddling Blake. He was pounding at the rebel leader, although his blows were weak. He was screaming something, but Blake couldn't hear him over the sound of the blood rushing in his ears. He was slipping away, he knew it. Again, his hands came upon two large rocks. Sweeping them upward, he crashed them against the sides of Sloman's head. The man fell away like a falling tree. Blake sat up and looked at him. Sloman's face was wreathed in blood. He lay there brokenly. Blake couldn't tell if he was dead or not.

With a moan, Blake got up. Time to end this. He drew his weapon, pointed it, and fired. Nothing. Nothing! Damaged in the fight! He looked around desperately for Sloman's blaster. There it was, lying on the ground about twenty feet away, near where they had first thrown each other. Slowly, painfully, he shambled toward it.

He was a few feet away from the blaster when he was struck on the back of his head from behind. His head seemed to explode and he pitched forward on his face. His ribs again protested; the pain knifed up into his innermost areas, nearly paralyzing him.

How long he lay there he couldn't tell. There was no sound except for the moaning wind. Finally, he raised his head and tried to look around. Nothing. The gun was only four or five feet in front of him. He tried to stretch a hand out to it, but his limbs wouldn't obey his mind. He wriggled forward, but the effort exhausted him and he slumped in mute resignation.

Suddenly, he was aware of movement near him. He rolled onto his back, barely, and darted his eyes around. There was Sloman, crawling toward the blaster, only a few feet from it now! Blake rolled to his left, rolled over and over and bowled into Sloman, knocking him over.

Once again, they grappled and pulled and shoved at each other, but too weak to do much damage. Blake managed to push Sloman away, then turned and hobbled for the blaster. Just before he could reach it, his left ankle was grabbed and he went down, flopping onto the blaster with his belly. He rolled over and grabbed for it, but Sloman's hand reached it first. Blake jumped to his feet and stomped down on Sloman's wrist with a sickening sound of bones crunching and pulverizing.

Sloman screamed, the sound cauterizing the desolate atmosphere of the gravel pit. Blake reached for the gun. Sloman kicked out reflexively, striking Blake's left knee. He stood up and kicked at Blake's face. Blake dodged the blow, falling over onto his back. Sloman stood up, his ruined right hand dangling limply at his side. He stooped and raised the blaster, pointed it at Blake, smiled like a ghost, and fired. Nothing.

Blake exhaled in relief. With a roar of anger, Sloman threw himself on top of the injured rebel. Blake rolled to his side and Sloman fell on some sharp rocks. Blake crashed the side of his hand into Sloman's neck and kicked at the subcommander's side. He got to his feet to look for a large rock to use as a weapon. Nothing suitable presented itself. Before he could look further, he heard another scream of rage.

"Blake!" Sloman shrieked. The man was on his knees, his face contorted in fury, his left fist shaking at him. "I'll get you if it's the last thing I do! Start running! No matter where you go, I'll track you down." Sloman rose slowly and shuffled toward Blake.

It was obvious now to Blake that Sloman was too weak to do him much further damage. It looked as if Sloman hadn't too much longer to live in any case. A thing that could be said about him, Blake, too, if he didn't head back for the rendezvous point immediately. But which way was it? There was no sun to act as a guide southward, no shadows. The wind was swirling around too much, and the morose terrain too similar and too jumbled to supply landmarks.

Before Blake could ruminate on his destination long enough to decide, though, he saw Sloman lurch toward him. Weak or not, dying or reviving, Sloman seemed determined to take Blake with him. The man's eyes shined with avenging zeal, his face set in an atavistic mask of hatred and bloodlust. Sheer fright impelled Blake into fleeing the grim stalker. He stumbled away at random, not seeing or caring whither he was headed.

Feet tripping and skidding on loose stones, Blake fled upward, between two large boulders and down a narrow path toward an area of gullies, ditches, hills, and broad ravines. He could hear Sloman following him.

Rona was evidently setting. The dimness was subtly but unmistakably turning to actual dark, and it was getting colder, too. Blake was shivering through his tattered clothes, despite the heat he was generating through excess physical activity. He knew he'd lost a lot of blood and was only barely comforted by the knowledge that Sloman must have lost at least as much if not more. As he stumbled on over the bleak and shattered landscape of Derona, he was not sure where he was headed. It looked totally unfamiliar to him, but then he could not be sure that the would recognize the ground he'd covered earlier. And with Sloman churning up the earth in pursuit behind him, he hadn't time to stop and reconnoiter.

For wherever he crept, crawled, limped, or hobbled, Sloman was always there behind him, never more than a few hundred feet to the rear. He had become a force of nature, as unstillable and unknowable as the wind or the callous clouds above. No stars would shine on Blake tonight, he realized, sky was a rare commodity on Derona.

Pain was not. Agony and weariness and deep depression were as common as rocks and gashes in the earth. Blake knew he had to elude his pursuer, but was beginning to lose the thread of the reason behind it all. Lightheaded and heavy-legged, he was unwilling to surrender but no longer sure just what he was hoping to gain. Sloman and he had been locked in this pattern forever, hunter and hunted, predator and prey; had it ever been different?

Given a chance to rest. Blake would have overcome this reversal of roles that had occurred since the morning's attack. Sloman was a man, but he was more than just a man; he was Federation, a representative of all that was evil and wrong in the universe according to Blake. But even Blake knew that more than duty drove Sloman on; on that barbarous planet, in his weakened condition, he was unable to concentrate on anything other than rude, immediate survival. Higher tasks were beyond him.

For several hours, perhaps, they headed north, separated by a handsbreadth, metaphorically. Blake could never fully shake Sloman, but Sloman never loomed as more than a tiny menacing figure far behind him, either. Up hill, across valley, over cliff, through canyon, neither could overtake nor lose the other. As Sloman slowed, sapped by weakness, so did Blake; when Blake began to fail, Sloman was in no shape to take advantage.

It was becoming apparent to Blake that he was heading in the wrong direction, away from the rendezvous point, away from where Cally had buried the precious spare bracelets. One major landmark he recalled from earlier was a broad, deep stream that he'd had to swim across. They'd encountered no such obstacle during this chase. Blake was also sure that he'd been away from the others for far more than the four hours he'd given them. And every step he took forward to escape Sloman was carrying him just so much further from safety and rescue.

Blake came suddenly to the base of a great steep mass. He'd been rising for almost twenty minutes now, he should have recognized that he was in the foothills of a mountain chain. He hadn't noticed; he must have been trudging forward mechanically, not paying attention, not fully alert. Not surprising, either, but also not acceptable.

He looked all around him. The base of the mountain curved inward in a giant arc, enfolding Blake against it like two vast arms. He tried to climb it, but quickly yielded to exhaustion. Off in the distance, in the still not quite darkness, he thought he could see the tiny shape of Sloman forging ahead, implacable, bent on his destruction.

Escape seemed blocked off. Sloman was perhaps five or ten minutes away; it would take Blake at least that long to find his way out of this cul-de-sac, around the tentacles of the mountain. If, indeed, there were a way out. Better to turn and counterattack than to be caught ignominiously. Especially since he knew how tired he was, how little strength he had left. Blake sighed. Now or never.

All right, then. Time to have it out, once and for all. Blake looked around for the best place to make his final stand. Eyes frantically scanning everywhere, he located a little plateau over a path through the rocks. He made for it, panting and wheezing from the strain of climbing. It formed a vee-shape with the mountain, narrow at the base, broader at the top. It canted downward, toward the path. An idea came to Blake...

Not much time to put it into effect, though. With a burst of energy engendered by desperation, Blake worked furiously. When he was finished, minutes later, he could hear Sloman, though no longer see him. He sat for a few seconds, trying to regain his breath. There was no time to rest! Now to seek out the enemy, draw him hither.

Blake dropped to the surface below, hitting hard; his right foot nearly gave out beneath him. He made a lot of noise when he landed. Good. He moved out on the path, away from his redoubt, again, making as much noise as he could. There was no way to tell where Sloman was. He'd have to chance it.

"Sloman!" he called. His voice was harsh and hoarse. "I can't go on! Come and get me. I'm over here at the base of the mountain. Just... just be quick about it." He scrambled up the mountainside as fast as he could. He might have only seconds to get into position.

Derona was dead. No sound of any kind came to Blake as he lay against the rough face of the mountain. The rocky surface cut into his bare skin. He waited, trying not to breathe, both to make as little sound as possible and to avoid the pain of inhaling. There were no stars visible. He strained his eyes looking, as if he could see _Liberator_ unaided. If she was still there...

There was _something_ out there. He'd heard a faint scraping, as of someone unable to avoid scuffing his shoes along the ground. Blake called out, pitching his voice soft and low, "Sloman! I'm right here! Come and get me!" He hoped his voice would echo and not sound as if coming from above.

Sloman was close. He was no longer trying to approach silently. "Got you now, Blake!" he cried savagely. He was coming along the path Blake had hoped he'd use, getting closer and closer. Suddenly, he was _there,_ fifteen feet below Blake, not quite in position... now!

Blake yanked on the rope he'd made by tying together strips torn from his tunic. He pulled a large chunk of rock out from under a boulder propped up in the base of the vee-shaped promontory sticking out of the mountain. The boulder and a pile of smaller rocks jammed behind it cascaded down the mountain, right on top of Sloman.

He'd looked up when he heard the rumble of the tumbling rocks. He tried to back up, but found himself blocked by the side of the gully shaping the path. He threw up his arms in reflex, but they offered no protection against the torrent of stones, rocks, and pebbles that smothered him. In seconds, there was nothing to be seen but a pile of rocks and the dust lazily drifting upward.

From his vantage point, Blake stared down dully. It had actually worked! He exulted. During that long, dispiriting pursuit, he had lost the expectation of ever defeating Sloman. At the end, he had overpowered the Federation not through superior strength or brutality, but through greater ingenuity and cleverness. Perhaps that was how it would always happen between Federation and rebellion.

Slowly he descended the cliffside, bracing himself with his hands to avoid falling. At the base, he surveyed the wreckage, looking for any sign of Sloman. Nothing. He peered in closer.

Suddenly, his ankle was taken in a strong grip. Blake stared down at a hand emerging from beneath the pile. He swung wildly at it, but the grip would not slacken. It yanked, hard, and Blake went down on the ground.

"Get me out of here!" came a thin voice from under the rocks. Startled, frightened beyond thought, Blake obeyed. Uncovered, Sloman looked ghastly. Bruised, bloody and cut to shreds, covered in a fine pale dust, he nevertheless glared at Blake with a ferocity that stunned the rebel. As he stared in mute fear, the younger man tried to rise up, arms stretching toward Blake as if to throttle him around the neck. Blake jumped back, and Sloman slumped down again and lay still.

Cautiously, Blake approached the fallen soldier. He rolled the body over and felt for a pulse on its neck. Nothing. He sat back on his heels and sighed. Just then, Sloman reached out and pushed him over. Blake hit his head against the base of the mountain. Sloman tried to move toward him, but was too weak and just lay there on his back, gasping and groaning faintly.

They stared at each other for a few seconds, Blake in dull amazement, Sloman in wide-eyed hatred. It was obvious to Blake that Sloman was dying, had very little time left. He wanted to understand the younger man.

"Why?" he asked. Sloman stared back in disbelief. "Why did you pursue us so relentlessly? We destroyed all your ships, we ruined your command. We even hunted down and destroyed all your surviving crewmen. You chased me for hours even though you must have known you were dying. Why? We've never met before. Even for a Federation officer, that's incredible devotion to duty."

The dying officer spat at him. Even while losing his remaining strength, he tried to reach for Blake. "'Why?' he asked furiously. _"Why?_ You bastard. You goddamned _bastard!"_ he shrieked. "I'd have followed you through a supernova, through a black hole, through intergalactic space! If you hadn't tricked me, nothing would have stopped me from getting you. If I could, I'd take you with me even now!" Sloman ran out of breath. He lay there, coughing and gasping. Blood was oozing from his mouth now. He hadn't much longer.

"But why?" Blake demanded, truly puzzled. "I don't know you. _Liberator_ has never been this way before. What did I ever do to you that you hate me so much?"

The soldier slumped back. Alarmed, Blake almost reached for him, then remembered the man's previous words. Again, Sloman gasped and coughed. His voice was very faint now. "What did you do to me? You ruined my life is what you did to me. You killed my wife and daughter, you murderous traitor, you filthy swine! Your attack destroyed the dependents' quarters off the base, including my home. You killed my wife and my...baby daughter, you bastard! For what? They weren't soldiers. They never harmed anyone. Not enough you had to destroy the base, was it? For the sake of your damned rebellion you had to kill my helpless little girl!" With his last breath, Sloman lunged for Blake again. He fell short and collapsed into the dust. He didn't move again.

Blake sat hunched over, unable to move. For all his earlier talk about it being war, he'd never before considered the consequences of his actions. Yes, the Federation was evil, and yes, it must be destroyed, and yes, it was his mission and duty to do it. Cleanly, if possible, any way at all, if necessary. He'd known that others, innocent noncombatants included, would pay a price for his desire, and he'd never cared. Sloman had served the Federation, had perhaps taken part in atrocities during his brief career. He'd attempted to destroy the _Liberator_ and had come very close to killing Blake. Yes, all that was true. Sloman had deserved to die and Blake should feel good that he had killed him.

So why didn't he? Why couldn't he get up and walk away and try to get back to the rendezvous point? What was it Cally had said before, something about having a conscience not being cowardice? He'd never been a coward before, but had he ever had a conscience before? His thoughts drifted to Sloman's little girl, dead in the ruins of a housing complex somewhere back on Sparloc. Even a vicious Federation officer could have a soft spot in his heart, could have a heart in which to house a soft spot. For the first time since escaping from the _London,_ Blake felt a secret doubt about his crusade.

They had stung the Federation with this attack, had perhaps hurt it badly. But at what cost? They certainly couldn't claim to have done any major damage overall, not close to Blake's goal of overthrowing or even forcing reform on the callous and cruel central government. It would take many similar raids, dozens or even hundreds, to have any chance of achieving that. And each such raid would have a terrible human cost. Could any victory won in such a way be worth winning?

Blake sighed. What had started out as a glorious triumph for the good guys had ended up as a philosophical defeat. Would it always be thus? If so, then it was time to seek out a new strategy, a new way of attacking the monster. And that it most definitely was, of that Blake retained his absolute certainty. The Federation must be overthrown. But in his tired, weak, injured state, after the murderous hatred of Sloman and the bitter pursuit he had carried out, Blake no longer felt triumphant or even moderately proud.

Once again, he cursed himself for his sensitiveness. This was no time or place for self-accusations. If he didn't get back to the rendezvous point and thence to the ship, there'd be no rebel to change strategies! And then, in the dark and hunkered down in that desolate canyon, Blake felt true despair. He had not clue as to the direction he must follow, and no assurance that if he somehow managed to get there that his comrades and ship would still be around to find him. And he was at the end of his stamina, almost drained by the fight, the long trek outward, and the depression of Sloman's revelation.

Stop that! he commanded himself. They may still be in orbit. I wouldn't abandon one of the crew, and neither will Jenna or Cally. If I can get back to the landing point, I'll be able to return to the ship. All I have to do is go back the way I came. I came straight toward this mountain, so as long as it's at my back, I'll know I'm going in the right direction.

With that base assurance, he started off. It was much tougher going than he'd expected, much tougher than the trip hither had been. Derona at night was even colder than Derona in the day. The wind was fierce, and without his shirt, Blake felt the cold much more sharply and bitterly. He should have taken Sloman's uniform top, but nothing would now induce him to return and rob the dead man's body.

He struggled on, limping, stumbling over unseen rocks and loose spots, tripping into invisible gullies and chasms, taking false steps down hidden slopes or into concealed rises. Derona had two moons, but neither was visible in the sky, shrouded in heavy clouds.

Sleep was dogging him now as relentlessly as Sloman had earlier. Blake resisted, sure that to sleep would take away any remaining chance of getting back. Loyal or not, his crew couldn't wait for him forever. Ships from Taliant could get here at anytime, and even Blake wouldn't want _Liberator_ to get caught in battle now, in her weakened condition. Perhaps they could get away, shake their pursuit, and then come back for him, but he didn't think he could last that long without food or shelter.

By now he was no longer capable of traveling in a straight direction. He followed whatever path seemed easiest, without concern for where it led him. He might have been sleepwalking for all the attention he paid to his surroundings. That he finally collapsed into unconsciousness is probably a good thing, for he was miles away from the way back when he fell.

How long he slept he was never after able to figure out, for it was daylight, or such as passes for daylight on Derona, when he came to his senses again. He was lying face down in sand, he discovered. He was filthy. Dried blood caked nearly every inch of his body. Dirt and tiny pebbles were pressed into the blood, into his hair, into his shoes, and into what was left of his clothing. He had more bruises than muscles, at least several broken ribs, and a twisted ankle. His head was on fire inside, and his eyes were sore and itchy. He tried to get up and couldn't.

In his agony he thought he saw Sloman again, lying beside him. "Got you, you bastard!" the apparition seemed to be saying, shaking a fist at the rebel. "Thought you'd get away from me, did you? Told you I'd follow you anywhere, I did! Now you'll die here too, just like me!" He shook his head. When he stared again, Sloman had vanished. Did he have teleport? Blake wondered. Perhaps he's right, he thought. Maybe I do deserve to die here. I did kill his family, after all. He closed his eyes again. He felt cold, so cold. He wanted to sleep again, sleep and drift away from the chill and the pain and the guilt. He faded.

As the fog overtook him, he began to lose touch with the outer world. It was warmer now, and the pain was much duller, and he couldn't quite remember what he had been so miserable about. His brain was no longer aching, his limbs seemed much further away than he'd ever noticed them before, and the ground was so soft! And he was rocking too, almost as if he was in a cradle. From side to side, gently, so gently. He felt wonderful! And there were such nice sounds, too. From a distance though, from very far away. Too far away to make out. Still, it sounded like...almost like...his name. "Blake!" he heard. "Blake!" He smiled. So nice to be welcomed, wherever he was going. So nice that they knew about him here.

Only the rocking was getting not so nice now, and the voice was louder. Blake scowled. He wanted to relax, couldn't they understand that? Why didn't they leave him alone? The rocking was getting unbearable, the voice screaming in his ear. "Blake! Can you hear me? Are you all right?" Of course he wasn't all right, not with being disturbed so intolerably. He reached out to push the bother away. His hand was grabbed, and he was turned over onto his back.

"Blake!" he heard a vaguely familiar voice cry. "Wake up! We've got to get you back."

Except that he didn't want to go back, couldn't the voice understand that? He tried to make it understand, tried to make it leave him alone, let go of him, it was grabbing his wrist, too! Putting something on it. From far away, he heard the voice say, "Okay, Cally, bring us up." Then, nothing. He was alone in the universe again, and it was once again a friendly, safe, warm black.

#

The black was turning to grey, then to smoke, then to light. Blake was lying on something soft, and he felt warm, truly warm. There were voices in the background, buzzing and humming, but these voices were comfortable, they didn't seem to be bothering or threatening him.

Suddenly, it came to him that it might be a nice idea to open his eyes. He tried it. The light was so bright that he blinked reflexively. He heard sounds of people moving, approaching.

"Blake?" said a female voice. It sounded familiar, sort of like...

"Jenna?" he called.

"Yes, I'm here, Blake. How do you feel?"

"Awful. But better. And a little surprised. Why am I still alive?"

She smiled at that. "You must be feeling better, to be able to make a bad joke." He chuckled softly. "You've been out forty-eight hours since we rescued you. You were suffering from severe exhaustion, dehydration, blood loss, trauma, and a concussion. Plus you had four broken ribs in your left side, and blood poisoning. Derona has some odd mineral salts in its crust, and some of them entered your system through cuts and abrasions in your skin. You're a lucky man, Blake."

"Obviously. What happened? I was away a lot longer than the four hours I told you to wait. Ordered you to wait. And how did you find me? My bracelet didn't work."

"Cally and Gan came back up within an hour of teleporting down. Orac was tracking you, but we decided not to call you in case you were close to your target and didn't want him to hear anything. Then, after about two hours or so, we lost track of you. That had us worried, but we figured you'd call us when you were ready to come back up.

"In any case, we were so busy with the repairs that we didn't have much time to worry about you. Orac picked up a last signal to Taliant from the pursuit command ship before it blew up. We also heard Taliant divert another squadron here. They were due in about thirty hours."

"That didn't give you much leeway."

"No," Jenna agreed. "Avon estimated that after completing minimally essential repairs, we'd have only about five hours to go before they arrived. Not much of a safety margin. But just enough to search for you when you were overdue."

"How did you find me?" Blake asked.

"It turns out that Zen has this interesting and useful ability," said Avon from the doorway of the med-unit. "It can detect life patterns from orbit. I took the ship in as close as possible and had Zen search for any sign of life. After Cally and Gan got back, there were only two--I assumed, you and Sloman. About eight hours later, there was only one. We tracked the sign for several hours, then it stopped moving. It stayed put for about twelve hours. We didn't know who it was."

"Why did you wait to long to come find out?" asked Blake, almost a little annoyed. "I was dying! I needed help!"

"To begin with, we didn't know it was you," said Avon coolly. "Also, an energy bank overloaded while recharging. We didn't have enough power to use the teleport until the other banks had recharged, which took about twelve hours. Then Jenna and I went down to see what happened."

"Both of you?" Blake was clearly surprised. "Even though it could have been Sloman?"

"Neither one of us wanted to leave you there if we could rescue you," said Jenna. Avon coughed. "Anyway, we found you barely alive, got you back here as fast as we could, and slapped you into the med-unit. Cally worked on you while I got us out of here at top speed."

"Good thing, too," Avon remarked. "That thirty hour estimate was much too generous. Those pursuit ships got here in twenty. We barely eluded them."

"But we are out of danger, though," Blake stated. It wasn't a question.

"Barely," Avon repeated.

No one spoke for several minutes. Blake knew how much he owed to them, how much they'd risked for him. Even cynical Avon hadn't wanted to abandon him. He didn't feel worthy of the effort.

"What happened down there, Blake?" Jenna asked.

"Yes," said Avon, "did you find out why Sloman was so intent on pursuing us, even though he destroyed his own squadron in the process?"

Blake closed his eyes. He took several deep breaths. "Sloman's wife and daughter were killed during our attack on Sparloc. That's why he kept pursuing us even when he should have broken off. He was willing to commit suicide, even kill his crew, to destroy us. He hates--hated--me so totally. I've never seen such complete loathing, such murderous personal fury in anyone. Even when he was dying, he was still trying to get his hands around my neck." He shuddered at the memory. "He chased me for hours! I was heading in the wrong direction, away from the pickup point, and I couldn't shake him! Finally I was trapped, and I managed to ambush him, but it was close. If I'd known _why_ he was after me, maybe..." Blake didn't complete the thought.

"We can't keep fighting like this," he continued. "The human cost is just too much. I don't know what alternative there is, but we have to find a new way to attack the Federation without committing mass murder."

"You mean _you_ can't keep fighting like this," said Avon. "I haven't been fighting at all."

Jenna looked at him in disgust. "Avon, can't you save your personal feud for later?" Avon raised his eyebrows, but said nothing.

Cally entered the med-unit at that moment and walked up to Blake's bed and checked a readout. "Your fever is up a little. That may be a good sign. I'm going to administer an antibiotic and a sedative at the moment. What you need the most now is rest." Jenna got up to leave. The wall-com beeped.

"Avon and Jenna, get up here right away," Gan's voice said. "Those pursuit ships are back. Extreme distance, but gaining."

"On our way," Jenna reported. Avon was already out the door. She followed.

Blake looked at Cally, already a little woozy from the sedative. "How is the uprising on Argyros doing?" he asked.

"Well," Cally replied. "They have seized the main centers of administration and control. I think we have contributed to freeing the whole planet." She looked at Blake carefully. "You don't seem happy with that, Blake. What is wrong?"

He stared at the ceiling for a few seconds. "I don't know, Cally. I never thought I'd have to admit that Vila was right about anything, but... all these military strikes hurt the Federation, but they also hurt us. We're not terrorists, but we act like terrorists. There has to be a way to destroy the Federation without killing so many of its citizens, regardless of their role in serving it." He looked at her, pleading in his eyes. "Is that weakness or principle?"

Cally thought for a few seconds. "I think it depends on whether you let your principles keep you from doing what you know is right. The Federation must be overthrown, Blake. This you know in your innermost core. But there may be other, better ways of achieving it. Considering a change in strategy is not weakness.

"But what is weak at the moment is you, Blake. You need rest, and I am needed on the flight deck. We will talk of this later, if you wish." She realized that she was talking to herself. Blake had fallen asleep.

With deep concern, admiration, and not a little affection, Cally contemplated Blake for a few seconds, then turned to go back to the flight deck. Sweet dreams, Blake, she telepathed.

the end

 


End file.
